Barefoot by the Sea bb-4

by Roxanne St Claire

  “Really.” He laughed, too, and she could have sworn he was nervous. “I know you’re surprised by this, but I’ve been thinking about the best way to handle you, er, us, er, this…situation.” He shook his head, flustered. Flustered? What was wrong with this picture, besides everything?

  Her truth-telling radar beeped and she mentally unplugged the whole system. This minute was too delicious to ruin with doubts.

  “What situation?” The one where she dissolves into a pool of helpless female hormones and he takes advantage of that and breaks her heart?

  “Tessa,” he said softly, looking from side to side for a second. “I have to tell you something about me. Something you didn’t ask in your interview.”

  Interesting, since he didn’t even answer the questions she did ask. Still, she waited, dying to see where he’d go with this.

  “I don’t shy away from anything,” he finally said. “When I see something I want, I get it.” He gave her a hard, straight look.

  Did he mean the job as chef or…her?

  “So, what are you here to get?”

  “My plan is that we start all over again.” Reaching down, he lifted her hand and very slowly drew off the gardening glove, sliding one finger out at a time out of the rough canvas. She couldn’t do anything but stare at his large, tanned, masculine hand undressing her much smaller one, her throat parched and every nerve ending dancing at the touch.

  “We could shake on it,” he said, dropping the glove to the ground but still holding her hand. His skin was warm. A little rough, a little dry, but very warm. “But I’d rather do this.”

  He lifted her fingers to his lips, barely brushing the knuckles, the sensation shooting fireworks down her arms. “To new beginnings, pretty Tessa. A new job, and a new…” He looked up from her hand and met her gaze, his own so serious she forgot to breathe again. “Friendship.”

  For a moment, she stared at him, a thousand emotions erupting like a volcano in her chest. Disbelief and excitement and desire and disbelief and longing and—yeah, mostly disbelief.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Well, I’m not really trusting by nature, so I’m fighting the sensation that you might be full of shit.”

  He laughed. “I deserve a chance.”

  Did he? “And you’ll probably get one, but what happened?”

  He lifted both brows. “I want the job.”

  “So you’re suddenly Prince Charming? After being guarded, evasive, and walking out in the middle of an interview?”

  He curled his fingers around her hand and sighed with resignation. “I guess I’m going to have to do some seriously high-quality groveling.”

  “Major high,” she agreed.

  “Let’s start with dinner tonight. We can finish the interview.”

  Obviously, he didn’t know she’d called all his references and they glowed like polished gold, and he certainly didn’t know about the wedding planners and the urgent need for a chef. Instead, he’d come to grovel and take her to dinner.

  “I’ll give you time to clean up and change for our date,” he said, as if she might be looking for an excuse to say no.

  As if a groveling man offering dinner and looking like a sex god fell into her lap on a daily basis.

  “I thought it was an interview,” she said.

  He shrugged. “You call it an interview, I call it a date.”

  “I call it a pretty remarkable turnaround for the guy who suggested a one-night stand of tongue-tattooing the last time we talked about going out.”

  His smile was sinfully slow and so damn confident. “Haven’t you ever changed your mind about something, Tessa? Ever looked at a situation in the light of day and realized you’d need a new approach to get what you want?”

  She tried to ignore the little thrill of his words and be smart about this. “What about trust?”

  He lifted his brows. “What about it?”

  “Did you change your mind about the advice you gave me in the bar? Or don’t you remember when your one word about trusting you was ‘Don’t’?”

  She could have sworn a little bit of color left his face. “How else are you going to know if you should or not unless you have dinner with me?”

  She couldn’t argue with that logic. Or maybe she just didn’t want to.

  Chapter Eight

  I think he’s kind of crazy, Lacey.” Tessa whispered into her cell phone, hoping the running water drowned out any chance of him hearing her. The bungalow where she lived on the edge of Casa Blanca’s property wasn’t big, and right now John Brown was prowling about her living room, waiting for her to shower and dress for a dinner date.

  “But he did accept the job.” Lacey was completely stuck on the wrong point.

  “Not technically yet, but this has nothing to do with work.” Tessa shook wet hair back to look in the mirror.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Should I wear makeup?” The question was more to herself than Lacey, but her friend gasped softly.

  “Makeup? I’m sorry, I thought I was talking to Tessa Galloway.”

  “Very funny.” She took a breath. “He’s all dressed up in khakis and a button-down shirt.”

  “Bet he looks hot.”

  “There are no words. And he came out to the vegetables and…” Kissed my hand. “Started courting me.”

  “Courting?” Lacey laughed. “Who does that anymore?”

  “I know, right? He’s up to something, I’m sure of it.” Tucking the phone in her ear, she pulled open the bathroom drawer to root for anything she could put on her face. Way in the back, she spied the mascara and blush Zoe had made her buy for Lacey’s wedding.

  “You thought that this morning when he wouldn’t tell you anything, now he wants to take you to dinner, presumably to tell you all the stuff he didn’t tell you this morning, and you don’t trust him again. Listen to yourself, Tess.”

  “Well, look at him.” And she had. Stared like he was a two-headed alien, as a matter of fact. “How can you trust a guy who looks like that?”

  “’Cause he has some tattoos and hair that touches his shoulders?” Lacey tsked. “I told you, you are asking the wrong woman.”

  So true. She let out a sigh and unscrewed the mascara wand, turning the foreign object in her hand. “I’m so not ready for this.”

  “For what? For sex? For fun? For a hot guy on a cool night? For another chance at love?”

  She rolled her eyes. “For mascara. And, please, love, Lacey? The man wants sex. He must have decided that since we’re going to work together, he has to pay for dinner first. But it’s still sex.” She opened her mouth in the “O-face” she’d seen Zoe make for mascara ever since they were roommates in college.

  “And that’s a problem, how?”

  “Seems like I called the wrong number, too.”

  “What?”

  “I thought I called Lacey but apparently I got Zoe.” She swiped the brush, darkening her lashes.

  “Zoe isn’t the only one of your friends who wants you to know the pleasure of four orgasms. In an hour.”

  She laughed, smudging the lid. “Shit. Who would do this every day?”

  “Maybe five orgasms.”

  “Excuse me, Lacey, you’re the mature one of this group. Aren’t you supposed to be wishing me happiness and not orgasms?”

  “They usually go hand in hand.”

  Tessa didn’t answer because she was too busy licking her finger to get it wet enough to wipe the mascara off. Which was stinkin’ waterproof. “Damn it,” she murmured, looking around for lotion. “I’m so ill equipped to do this.”

  “Take a deep breath and relax. He’ll wait for you.”

  She did as she was told, or tried, puffing out a lungful of air in a long, slow sigh.

  “Now what’s really the matter, Tessa?”

  Now she sounded more like the former RA nurturer Tessa had loved since the day they’d met in the dorm. “What’s the matter is…” She closed her eyes, and d
ug deep. “He’s all wrong.”

  “But he’s all right.”

  “This is not a country song, Lace. He’s not what I want in a man.”

  “Too sexy? Too big? Too interested? Too funny? Too talented? Yeah, I see the problem.”

  “I mean it,” she insisted, frustration growing. “He’s a drifter who drives a motorcycle.”

  “The Ducati that was parked in front of the resort this afternoon?” Lacey asked, blowing out a whistle. “Speaking of orgasms, I think Clay had one just looking at that bike. He drives that? He’s taking you out on it?” Her voice rose in utter incredulity.

  “He drove it over here but I’m going to take us in my truck,” she said. “And what I’m saying is he’s a man who wants nothing like I want. Roots, kids, stability.”

  “He told you all this in an interview when he wouldn’t answer personal questions? Interesting.”

  Tessa ignored the sarcasm. “I can tell from looking at him.” She finally cleaned her eyelid, and did one more cursory swipe of mascara brush, and then tackled the blush compact. She didn’t need it; nature colored her cheeks enough around this guy.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” Lacey said. “I have two words for you.”

  “I know what two words they are, Lace. Clay Walker.”

  “Precisely. Could I have been more wrong about him when I met him? Remember how hung up I was on his age and looks and his relentless determination to get me naked? Well, I wasn’t wrong about that.”

  “And you have the brand-new baby to prove it.”

  “Need I say more?”

  Tessa dropped the makeup brush. “How about something that sounds like ‘Be careful’ or ‘Have a good time’ or ‘Don’t fall for the wrong man.’”

  “You don’t know he’s wrong. You don’t know what kind of man is under all those muscles and hair and ink.”

  Tessa laughed. “Well, when you put it like that…”

  “Exactly. You need to find out more about him.”

  She was right, but still. “I can tell he’s a drifter without even asking. I talked to three former employers in three different states.”

  “But they said he was a great chef and a…”

  “An upstanding citizen,” Tessa supplied. “Two of them used exactly the same phrase.”

  “Well, there you go. It’s nearly unanimous.”

  “But doesn’t that strike you as odd?” Tessa asked, giving voice to one of the questions that had been bugging her ever since she’d made the calls to his references. “An upstanding citizen? Who says that unless they’re running for office?”

  “He didn’t say it, they did. And it’s probably because he looks exactly the opposite and they want to assure you that he isn’t going to steal the booze or dip into the cash drawer.”

  Oh, she was making entirely too much sense. “Lacey, do you or do you not want me, and all of your employees, which now includes a new head chef, to be focused on the most important weekend guests since we opened the resort?”

  “Of course I do,” Lacey answered. “But you’re not going to stop growing great food because you’re falling in—”

  “I am not in love!”

  “—bed with the new chef.”

  She burned during a second of silence. “That’s at the root of this, isn’t it?” Tessa admitted into the phone. “For him, it’s probably about sex and for me, it could never be just sex.”

  “Hey, you’re the one on the sperm hunt.”

  “He already said he wouldn’t be the supplier.”

  “In a bar, after some scotch, when he had no idea he’d ever see you again.”

  Tessa grabbed a comb and started untangling her wet hair. “So, it’s even more impossible now when he knows he will see me every day at work. He’s officially off the sperm-donor list.”

  “All the better.”

  The comb stuck in a knot. “What do you mean? You know how much I want—”

  “Tessa, you have to stop…” Her voice drifted off, and, in the distance, Tessa could hear the not-so-soft cry of a hungry infant and the low tones of Lacey’s husband talking to her.

  She closed her eyes and listened to the music of—a family. A life with a partner and a baby and a future. A life she might nev—

  “Sorry, Elijah’s starving. I gotta go.”

  “It’s okay. I got the general gist of your advice. Go have four orgasms for no other reason except it feels good.” Even though that wasn’t exactly what Tessa wanted.

  “No.”

  “No? Then what are you advising?”

  “Same thing I advised earlier today. Give the guy a chance, Tess. Have dinner, find out what he’s made of, get beneath the sexy exterior and let go and enjoy yourself.”

  Tessa looked hard at her reflection, meeting the challenge Lacey offered. “In other words, forget about a baby.”

  “Just have fun tonight,” Lacey said. “The other stuff will work itself out. And don’t forget everyone’s coming over later for a nightcap, so you better join us.”

  By everyone, she meant Jocelyn and Will, and Zoe and Oliver. And…Tessa. “Seventh wheel.”

  “Oh my God, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Bring John.”

  She tried to imagine how that would unfold: Tessa showing up for a late-evening gathering with her three best friends and their significant others. Awkward or awesome?

  “Unless you’re otherwise occupied.” Lacey’s meaning was all too clear.

  “We’ll see.” And they would. “But I’ll give him a chance, Lace. I will.”

  “Good girl. See you later, I hope.”

  She didn’t commit to that, though. One step at a time. Taking a deep breath, she turned from the mirror and took the first one.

  Ian paced the living area of Tessa’s undersized house after she’d closed the hallway door and left him to wait for her. No bigger than a roomy one-bedroom apartment, the bungalow was part of an enclave of similar structures built for high-level employees of the resort.

  Convenient, because if he lived in one, he’d be right next door to Tessa, and the more contact they had, the faster he could get his impulsive marriage plan into action. Things were already going swimmingly.

  He paused at a bookshelf next to the TV, perusing the titles. A smattering of fiction, but mostly books on gardening, greenhouses, horticulture, hydroponics, permaculture, harvesting, and—huh?

  He crouched down to make sure he’d read the title on the pink spine correctly. Yes, he had. Every Drunken Cheerleader…Why Not Me? He pulled out the book to look at the image of a pregnancy test reading “Not Pregnant” on the front cover.

  Behind it, he found another row of books, all blocked by gardening titles. He eased out a few and found a treasure trove of books all on the same subject, with titles that sang the same song. Empty Womb. Having Hope. Boosting Your Fertility. Inconceivable. What to Expect When You’re Not Expecting.

  “Looking for a particular title?” He whipped around to see Tessa standing in the doorway in a simple black dress, sleek heels, her hair falling around her shoulders. Damn. At least he wouldn’t have to pretend to be attracted to her.

  He straightened slowly, still holding a book. “Five Hundred Ways to Get Pregnant. Who knew there was more than one?”

  She fought a smile, but her color was high. “You’d be surprised.”

  “Nothing surprises me.” He set the book down on the table and gave her a thorough once-over. Twice. “Not even how gorgeous you clean up.”

  She gave a self-conscious half-laugh. “You got the job, John. Flattery isn’t necessary.”

  Actually, it was. He didn’t have a minute to waste. “Not flattery, honesty.” And he meant that. Coming closer, he reached out for her hand. “Thanks for saying yes to dinner with me.”

  She reluctantly gave her hand, her dark eyes lit with distrust and a little confusion. Smart girl.

  “Consider it part of your job training,” she said. “I’m happy to tell you everything you’ll need
to know about working at Casa Blanca.” She managed to tug out of his fingers.

  “You think that’s why I want to have dinner with you?” He shook his head, laughing softly. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  She held his gaze for a beat, a thousand questions passing through her eyes. Don’t ask them, Tessa, ’cause I won’t answer.

  “I don’t date much,” she finally admitted.

  “Then I’m doubly honored.” He stepped closer and put his hand on her back. “You sure you won’t change your mind and let me take you on the bike?”

  “In a dress?”

  “Maybe too adventurous,” he agreed. “But we can take a ride tomorrow. After breakfast.”

  She turned to the door, but he heard her laugh.

  “What? You don’t eat breakfast?”

  “You’re good, you know that? Really, really good.” She led him to a mud-splattered Toyota pickup, the back bed loaded with bags of soil and some gardening tools. “I’m afraid my truck isn’t much more elegant than your bike.”

  “It works for me. Do you want me to drive?”

  “No, I’ll drive.”

  “Then at least”—he scooted ahead of her—“let me be a gentleman who gets the door.”

  She let him open it. “The same gentleman who suggests breakfast before dinner?”

  Trapping her with the door and his arm, he leaned into her from behind, inhaling deeply to get a whiff of something as sweet and floral as the explosion of purple flowers lining the driveway. “I’m optimistic.”

  He felt her draw in a steadying breath before sliding behind the wheel.

  He rounded the truck, hoping he still had his touch in the dating department. He’d done little more than pick up stray women for easy sex in the past few years. Now he was a man on a mission.

  A mission, he conceded, that was made much easier by how good she looked and sweet she smelled. He could fake a lot of things, but he sure didn’t have to fake the chemistry they both felt.

  Was that a good thing, or was it only going to make his full-scale seduction worse?

  “There a problem, John?” Tessa asked as he got into the passenger seat.

  Yes, damn it. There were so many problems he didn’t know where to start. Every time he had a second, third, or fourth thought, he’d simply remember why he was doing this: Shiloh and Sam. He wanted them back in his arms and in his life. If some nameless face on a Protected Persons review board said he needed a marriage certificate to reach that goal, so be it.